


I’m only 17, I don’t know anything

by Lillies_roses



Category: The Iliad - Homer, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Based on a Taylor Swift Song, British High School, But also Song of Achilles, I don’t know what happened!, I just really like this song, M/M, because I'm british, this is so self indulgent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:41:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27228253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lillies_roses/pseuds/Lillies_roses
Summary: "Achilles had no idea how Pat was.  He had walked back into school after the summer away, and braced himself for that first glimpse of his face.  He had practiced over and over what he would say, how to explain what had happened, how it had happened.  Instead he found that Pat had moved out of their tutor group, and that rumours about himself and Mia absconding to the coast were still buzzing around the school, whispered behind hands and scribbled on tatty little notes.  It was the longest he had gone without seeing Pat since their friendship had begun."The song Betty except it's Achilles and Patroclus, because I went mad in lockdown.
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus, Achilles/Patroclus (Song of Achilles)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 64





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on the Taylor Swift song Betty (as well as the songs that seem to tell the same story, August and Cardigan), except it's Achilles and Patroclus.  
> I know, what the hell happened right? Well, honestly, lockdown happened; I reread the Iliad, I reread Song of Achilles, Taylor Swift released folklore, I listened to nothing else for a whole month, and somehow they all got tangled up together I my brain. I apologise. Did anyone else want this? No? Just me? Sick!

Achilles lay on his back in the middle of his narrow bed. The palm of one hand was pressed against his eyes and tendrils of orange bled into the edges of his vision, an unwelcome intrusion on the black screen of his eyelids. The night was waning, curtains open and window cracked, and the air that floated in was crisp and colder than he’d felt in months. It already smelt like autumn.

He let out a quiet groan as he turned onto his side, pressing the pad of his thumb and finger into his eyes before opening them to the soft, pink glow of dawn that stretched across his bedroom. He fumbled beside him, reaching clumsily for his phone. It unlocked with a satisfying click, and he blinked against the bright, bluish light. 6.24. Had he even slept? He couldn’t remember, but somehow the hours had ticked away regardless. It was tomorrow now. Today. It was Pat’s birthday.

Achilles sat up, swiping to open his messages. It had been more than a month, but it didn’t take long to find. He was still only the fifth contact, right there under _Ma_ , under _Dad_ and _Mia_ and _AJ_. **Pat** , black and bold, and just below that “ _Come out!! You’re missing out, you stubborn tw…”_ Achilles felt his stomach contract. He had read this stupid message over and over, as though that alone might conjour a new one. He had no idea how Pat was; didn’t know if he’d passed his exams, if his father had actually agreed to let him go to Zante with his friends last month. He was meant to know all of that by now. He had walked back into school after the summer away, and braced himself for that first glimpse of his face. He imagined the purse of his lips, the crease between his eyebrows when he spotted Achilles back. He had practiced over and over what he would say, how to explain what had happened, _how_ it had happened. Instead he found that Pat had moved out of their tutor group, and that rumours about himself and Mia absconding to the coast were still buzzing around the school, whispered behind hands and scribbled on tatty little notes. It was the longest he had gone without seeing Pat since their friendship had begun.

  
  


Pat had been Achilles’ best friend as far back as he could remember. Well, that wasn’t strictly true, but he didn’t like to recall the years before. They had actually met in Year 7, in detention of all places. Achilles had been 11 years old, and trying to make a name for himself among the hordes of green faces pouring in from primary school. He was surely there for something idiotic, showing off by juggling the contents of somebody’s lunch box or grappling with a forgotton classmate. Nothing in school seemed worthy of reminiscence then. Nothing quite held his interest. The classes were monotonous, his peers at best nameless, at worst infuriating.

Pat was different. Achilles could not remember for the life of him why he had been in detention that day, but he’d never forget the circumstances that had brought Patroclus into his orbit. Pat had told him about it soon after. How the boy had bullied him throughout primary school, and how Pat had finally snapped when he demanded the football he was playing with that second week of term. He had pushed him. Not hard, but a fair shove. The boy (Achilles didn’t know his name. He made a conscious effort _not_ to know his name) had cracked his head open, a small stream of blood pooling on the grey concrete behind. His mum had to pick him up and take him to A&E to glue the torn flesh back together. Pat was mortified, took his punishment gladly and never quite forgot his guilt. So Achilles couldn’t tell Pat how pleased he was that it had happened. He could barely describe how pleased he was. How else would he have stumbled upon this unassuming boy. Patroclus had walked into detention, small and reticent, and Achilles had drunk him in; the slope of his neck as he cast his gaze down to the tiled floor; his backpack overwhelmingly large on his slight frame; his eyes hidden behind a curtain of dark curls.

“What’s your name?” He had asked. They were the only two in the classroom, the teacher hadn’t arrived yet, and Achilles had never really had a sense of self-consciousness with his peers. Pat had looked up at him, surprised to have been addressed at all.

“Patroclus.” He said, and tilted his head up, as if daring Achilles to laugh. He didn’t.

“Sit next to me.” Achilles had instructed, and repeated it the next day in History class and then again in the lunch hall. That was all it took. Detention in a stuffy classroom, and a boy with a bleeding head.

By the time Achilles and Patroclus started their GCSEs, they had every subject together. Achilles wasn’t quite sure if it had happened by accident, or if he had unconsciously picked based on Patroclus’ interests. Either way he found that classes weren't nearly as boring when he got to sit next to Pat each day, knees occasionally knocking together through the thick polyester of their school trousers. Shelley or Shakespeare, quadratic equations, even the Irish potato famine. Everything was interesting with Pat, hunched together over their desk in thoughtful discussion or fits of giggles. This and this and this.

As the months and years progressed, Patroclus settled more comfortably into himself. His posture straightened, and he began to hold himself with a quiet dignity so unusual for someone his age. He had a quick wit that the entire year seemed to warm to, and a strong sense of right and wrong. Achilles, meanwhile, found himself more and more restless, more untethered with each passing day. Something itched under his skin, a burn that he could not sooth. Day after day he ran and ran, as far and fast as he could, pushing himself to his limits. Weekends were spent at athletic competitions, first for the school, then the county. It didn’t seem crazy to imagine that might soon be the country. Pat, meanwhile, spent his weekends with the very classmates Achilles had rejected, shrugged off as dull or moronic. He would hang around the city centre, go to the cinema, have long revision sessions at each other's houses. But when evening rolled around, Achilles always found himself back with Pat., where he belonged. Patroclus’ gentle company subdued the fire in his belly. He was kind where Achilles was churlish, quiet where he was brash. He was thoughtful. He laughed at Achilles, his deep kind laugh, teased him when he was being pigheaded, and for some reason Achilles let him. He tried to ignore the tremble deep in his belly when their bare elbows brushed whilst playing video games on the sofa. He slept at Pat’s house whenever his father was out of town, and Achilles would lie on his back, arms glued to his sides, and listen to the steady breaths of his friend beside him. His body, acutely aware of each tiny shift Pat made in his sleep, would inadvertently mimic them, twitching and jolting as an ache settled into his chest. Sometimes he could barely breathe. All around them their friends seemed to be pairing off. Achilles tried not to look when they walked side by side past these new couples in corridors, their hands all over each other. He shoved his own hands deeper into the pockets of his blazer. When Helen was seen with a guy who wasn’t Melelaus in town one weekend, the furore that followed baffled him. Who cared if she decided to hang out with someone else? It was her choice, and Menelaus was a pain in the arse anyway. But when he imagined someone taking Patroclus from him, or worse Pat _choosing_ someone else _over_ him, he felt an uncontrollable anger rise inside, and had to run 5k before he could begin to calm down.

He knew what it all meant, he wasn’t dense. But he looked at Patroclus, with his dark eyes and his honest smile, and he could never quite find the right words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to have just one chapter from Achilles' perspective, but it began to get away from me. I guess this one is set up to an extent, and shorter than the others will be.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m in the middle of moving (arrrrgggg) so I posed this from my phone! I’ll check through it later to see if there are any mistakes, but please do tell me if there are!

It came to head on the last day of Year 12. It fell apart the next. With coursework handed in and exams finishing, a lethargic buzz had overcome their cohort. The sun was high that day, the warmth of early summer a prickeling against their skin, and the sky was a mottle of blue and white. Patroclus had been adamant that they needed to mark the day, to celebrate it somehow even though they would be back doing their A-levels in a couple of months.

“Everything will be so intense next year,” He’d told Achilles, as they waited outside their History exam. He shrugged his backpack higher onto one shoulder, pushing his curls from his eyes and frowning in thought. “And then we’ll all just… splinter off.”

Achilles felt a dull thud as something dropped in his stomach. He bit the inside of his cheek and tried to concentrate on the metallic taste that rushed over his tongue, and not Patroclus’ premonitions of their future. They would _all_ splinter off? Was Achilles included in that all? “This summer will be, like, the last _proper summer_ where we’re all together.” Patroclus continued softly, “We should start it with a bang.”

What Achilles wanted, what he had planned, was for the two of them to spend the evening eating pizza and playing video games. He didn’t want to share _his_ Patroclus with all the other overexcited teenagers. He was having a congratulatory dinner with his parents the next day, which was painful enough, and everyone else would be going to Prom. Tonight he wanted just Pat to himself. But Patroclus grinned at him, his cheeks pinked from the sun and the shadow of the impending exam, and Achilles simply shrugged, muttering his agreement before a harried invigilator ushered them into the hall.

And so Achilles had found himself sitting on slightly damp grass, in a circle around a pile of discarded bags and unnecessary layers of clothing, drinking the warm beer that they had talked his cousin into buying for them. Patroclus sat beside him, his long legs tucked up as he chatted animatedly to Briseis about their biology exams. Achilles took a moment to glance at the faces around him, the glances that flicked timidly in his direction before skittering away. He understood what his looks, his talents, that certain brand of unconscious cockiness that sat so well afforded him. Any one of these kids would probably kill to be thought of as _his_ friend, and he wasn’t even sure that he recognised them all. Patroclus probably knew each them; knew their names, which exams they had taken, probably knew their whole bloody medical history. Somehow he had the capacity, the space within him to care not just for Achilles, in all his glory, but for what happened to all these other kids in their mundane lives. Achilles would never understand it. He glanced at his friend from the corner of his eye, watching as he murmured something conspiratorially into Briseis’ ear. He had pushed the sleeves of his sweatshirt to his elbows, exposing his brown arms, and he laughed now, his head back and his mouth stretched wide at the sides. Achilles leant slightly towards him, pressing his own arm ever so gently against Pat’s. Patroclus didn’t break his stream of speech and his eyes didn’t leave Briseis, but Achilles felt the minute increase of pressure as Pat leant back into him. He bit his lip against the smile that twitched behind it and turned to Odysseus on his other side, joining the raucous retelling of his wooing of Penny last term.

Not long after, his cousin AJ returned with a group of year 13s. Someone took out an acoustic guitar, and Achilles found himself offering a song, bowing theatrically when the others applauded his flourishing finish. Menelaus’ older brother Agamennon, who had arrived with AJ, started to act the Big I Am, and somehow Achilles found himself in an armwrestling contest to the cheers of the gathered crowd. He won of course, although Agamemnon grumbled about uneven surfaces as he returned to his entourage with flushed cheeks.

“You wanna get your dick out, now?” Pat had said, loud enough for Briseis to choke slightly on her alcopop. Achilles mouth went dry.

“Wha… what?”

“I’m sure someone still has a ruler tucked away from their Maths exam,” He continued, the corner of his mouth creeping up into a wry smile. “We could measure you and ‘Mem, end this once and for all.” Patroclus threw an affectionate arm around Achilles’ shoulder and gave it a squeeze, and somehow Achilles managed to laugh along with the others even as he struggled to breath.

The sun began to disappear behind the treetops, an orange halo leaking into the darkening blue of the sky. Patroclus held out a spliff and Achilles took it from his fingers, raising the slightly damp tip to his lips and taking a long drag. As Pat lowered his hand, Achilles felt it come to rest lightly on the sun warmed skin of his knee, just under the hem of his shorts. Achilles looked out at the sky, the pink horizon and the stars beginning to twinkle into sight, and he thought that if it was this, always, perhaps he wouldn’t ever have to feel that blaze inside him again. Patroclus squeezed his knee gently to gain his attention, and Achilles turned to look at him. His face was rosy and warm in the glow of twilight, his eyes wide and slightly glassy from the smoke the circles their heads.

“You wanna get off?” He said quietly, and Achilles simply nodded. Pat pulled himself to stand, stretching his arms above his head. His sweatshirt rose slightly, and Achilles quickly averted his graze, pulling at a dry strand of grass in front of him. Pat held out a hand and hauled Achilles up beside him, their damp palms slipping slightly against the other. Achilles watched as Pat made the rounds, hugging Briseis and waving an enthusiastic goodbye to the others. He raised his own hand in a half-hearted farewell, and led Patroclus from the park.

As they followed the familiar pavements towards home, the streetlights began to blink into life. Achilles slung an arm over Pat's shoulder now that they were alone, pulled his friend into his side. He hummed softly as they walked the quiet streets, the same song he had sung earlier but just for Pat now, the only audience he really needed. Patroclus was quiet too. It wasn't often that he was quite when it was just the two of them, his word usually tumbling out, tripping over the next to keep Achilles up to date with each tiny thought that flew through his mind. But now he listened attentively, only occasionally tapping his fingers against Achilles' side in time to the tune. Achilles grinned, and grinned more.

As they turned a corner, Pat’s foot suddenly caught on a cobblestone and he stumbled, almost tugging Achilles to the ground with him. Achilles quickly wrapped his other arm around Pat to steady him, laughing at his friend’s clumsiness. He pulled him even closer, and as he did Pat’s laughter began to trail off. His eyes were even wider now, impossibly, almost comically wide, but Achilles didn't want to laugh. His breath was coming in small puffs against Achilles’ face, as though he had run far and fast.

Achilles kissed him. There was no other way to see it. He pulled him closer. He kissed him. And after a moment, the longest moment in which Achilles could hear his blood rushing through his ears, Patroclus kissed him back. He turned his head and shifted his weight forward, his whole body pushing into Achilles'. Achilles felt a jolt through him. That familiar fire lit his belly, but rather than threatening to engulf him whole, it seemed instead to warm him from his head to his toes. His skin tingled from the heat of it, the pleasure. His fingers found the hem of Patroclus’ sweatshirt and pushed inside, padded tips skimming across bare skin. Patroclus’ breath caught, a sudden hitch, and then he was laughing again, sweet peals against Achilles’ lips. Achilles felt something swell in his chest at the sound, so familiar to him yet suddenly so novel. He couldn’t help but smile too, relishing the sudden break in the overwhelming tension of moments before, while simultaneously mourning the loss of it. He drew back slightly and rubbed his cheek against Patroclus’, closing his eyes again. He himself barely had to shave his upper lip once a week, but a light stubble already adorned Patroclus’ cheeks, one that bloomed whenever he neglected it for a couple of days. It was rough and scratched against Achilles smooth cheek, but it made his stomach flip over inside him.

“I think that was the best party gathering thing that I’ve ever been to.” Achilles whispered into his ear. He felt a small shiver run through Pat as his breath met flushed skin, but then he pushed him gently away.

“That’s because you’re drunk.” Pat said, his laugh now soft and low. Achilles wasn’t really, not very, but he didn’t tell Pat that. “Come on." Pat reached out a hand, and tentatively touched Achilles on his elbow. "We’d better get home, or my dad’ll get really pissed off.” Then he dropped it and turned, continuing their journey home.

As they turned the corner onto his street, Pat fumbled in his pocket for his keys. He unlocked the door and then turned back to Achilles, his lips turned up in a shy smile. “Wanna sleep over?”

Achilles nodded. He followed behind Pat, inside the house and up the creaking stairs. Once they were over the threshold and into his room, the door closed firmly behind, no longer on tiptoe with breaths held in lungs, Patroclus undressed down to his t-shirt and boxers and fell back onto the bed. “Can’t believe we’re done, man. ” He murmured, eyes already closed. “Whole summer ahead of us.”

“Yeah.” Achilles replied though he had barely registered the words, hesitating there in the middle of Pat’s room. Pat lay feet away from him, and Achilles saw no signs of what was going on in his head, of what when was thinking, while Achilles’ mind worked in overdrive. He always slept in bed with Pat when he stayed over, ever since they were young. But with what had happened between them? Surely that would be too presumptuous. Or did Pat think he was being an idiot, standing here like a lemon when Pat had just invited him into his room. 

“Come on, get in.” Pat cut through the whir of his thoughts with a loud sigh. “I’m knackered.” He rolled over on the bed and dragged his duvet over himself, but left the other side untucked. Achilles grinned then, shaking the uncertainty from his mind, and quickly undressed himself. He slipped between the sheets, already warm from Patroclus, and turned onto his side, pulling the cover up to his chin. His knees brushed gently against the slightly damp skin of Patroclus’ thighs. He looked at the back of his friend's head in the half light of the streetlamps shining through the thin curtains. The thick curls, his brown neck, the perfect shell of his ear.

“Pat?” Achilles whispered into the darkness, his heartbeat in his throat.

“Mmmm?” Pat’s voice was already thick and sleepy.

“You’re my best friend.” The room was silent, and Achilles was almost sure that Patroclus had fallen asleep. But then his hand fumbled backwards, skipping over the sheets until it found Achilles’ own where it rested in front of him. He twisted his little finger around Achilles’. “Night, Achilles.” He mumbled into his pillow.

“G’night, Pat.”   
  


When Achilles sat down for dinner with his parents the next night his mind certainly wasn’t on the high-quality food that he had been promised. While his father perused the wine list and his mother tapped her long nails on the tabletop, he thought that Patroclus would be getting into the rented limo right about now. He would be wearing the suit that he and Achilles had picked out at a department store a month ago, and would probably have slicked some gel through his hair in a doomed attempt to tame the cowlicks above his ears. Just before Achilles had left, Pat had texted him. _Urg, felt pretty rough this morn! Soz I wasn’t awake before you left. Hope athletics wasn’t too painful!_ Then another, _Enjoy dinner. Say hi to your mum for me ;) (don’t actually, lol)_ And finally, _Wish u were coming 2night x_

Achilles switched his phone to silent, the rule whenever he dined with his mother, and slipped it into his back pocket. He tried to tune his attention fully into his parents.

“So,” His father had said once a bottle of Agiorgitiko had arrived, along with a coke for Achilles. “How do you think the exams went?”

Achilles smiled at his father, but he couldn't make it reach his eyes. He saw his father notice, and shugged instead. “I dunno. Good? I mean, I think they were fine.”

“Fine?” His mother asked, raising one of her dark eyebrows. “Just fine?”

“I said I don’t know, Ma.” His mother pursed her lips. She had more to say, as usual. He stared at his coke and waited.

“ _Fine_ won’t be enough to get you into Oxbridge, Achilles,” She said lightly after a moment. “It won’t even get you into one of the better sports universities.” She raised her wine glass to her lips, taking a small sip. His mother had always had high aspirations for her son, and high expectations alongside them. Ever since she had left, when he was just a kid, she had been hard on him. He knew she loved him, and maybe it was the only way she knew to show it. And he wanted to be great, he really did. When it was just the two of them, conspiring as they mapped out his future time and time again, he had felt a rush of adrenaline at the idea. But then she left, and he remembered that he just wanted to be a teenager. Just Achilles.

His father leant forwards then, avoiding the hard gaze of his ex-wife. “Look, son, I know that academics aren’t necessarily for you.” He smiled his kind smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling from years of practice, and Achilles almost wanted to turn back to his mother. He knew again what was coming, as it inevitably always did. His mother would push her vision for Achilles’ future, and his father couldn’t help but pull back with his own. “Have you thought anymore about joining up next year, son?” His mother’s mouth opened, but he held up a hand and continued firmly. “Of course, he’ll finish his A-Levels, Thetis, but I joined the army straight out of school and it’s seen me pretty well, hasn’t it?” He gestured around the restaurant.

“You,” Thetis bit, “didn’t have the talents that my Achilles has, Peleus.” The old venom was in her voice, twisting it into something taut and harsh. “With the right training he could go professional, you know that, and with a good degree as well he’ll have the world at his feet.”

“I just want _our_ son to be happy…”

“And he’ll be happy if he ends up in a war zone?” Thetis spat.

“Well, it was the making of me…”

Achilles stared at the table in front of him, trying to block out their voices. His fists clenched, nails biting into the pale skin of his palms. He thought of Patroclus. Patroclus who hated the spotlight of any kind, and intellectual snobbery, and ego. Patroclus the pacifist, who wrote letters to MPs against arms sales and military intervention. Patroclus who thought they might ‘just splinter off’. He began to feel a fuzziness fill his head. _No._ He thought, _No. What about Patroclus? Why weren’t they thinking about Patroclus?_ He gritted his teeth, and swallowed down the urge to scream at them both, to overturn the table and run out as fast as his swift feet would carry him. Then suddenly he felt a light hand on his shoulder, and looked up to see Peleus’ face drawn in concern. He smiled tightly.

“I’ll think about it, Dad.” He muttered, eyes again cast down. “And you, Ma. I’ll work it out.”

The rest of dinner passed in much the same mood. The push and pull of his parents would never quite let up, and Achilles found himself pushing back at the rising storm in his chest. Finally, as his mum and dad argued under their breath over who would pay, Achilles stood and left the restaurant for some air. He pulled his phone out. Another text from Pat shone up from the screen, just waiting for him, and some of the tension immediately drained from his limbs. _Come out!!_ It said, _You’re missing out..._

In that moment, Achilles knew that he had to see him. Everything would be okay, he could deal with his parents and the future, with it all as long as he could just see Patroclus. He could swallow the world whole if he could see Patroclus. Texting his parents an excuse, he turned on his heel and began to walk quickly in the direction of the school.

As Achilles arrived, a few of his peers rushed towards him, the smell of alcohol and cheap aftershave following in a cloud behind them. Achilles greeted them distractedly, swiftly moving past their attentions and through the doors into the school hall. It was set up for Prom, balloons and fairy lights and streamers covering every surface in an orgy of glitter and pastel. As his eyes glanced around the room, Achilles’ ears pricked at the sound of the first few chords of a song playing through the tinny speakers at the side of the room. He knew this song. He let out a breath and felt himself smile as vocals joined the guitar. _Show me, show me, show me how you do that trick…_

The songs was surely too old for the DJ the school had hired to play of his own accord. Also, it happened to be Pat’s favourite. Achilles’ gaze scanned the room before fixing on the DJ booth on the far side, and sure enough, just in front, there was Pat; jacket off, tie loose and curls clinging in damp clumps to his forehead as his mouth moved to the song, unheard. Achilles started towards his, but then… no. Pat had wrapped his arms around Briseis, one hand pressing into the small of her back, the other resting on her hip, and he held her so close, so small against his body. He was gazing down at her, and Achilles had only seen that look in his eyes once before. When he had looked at _him_ , half drunk and high, their lips still tingling where they had so recently pressed against the other’. He watched as Briseis raised herself onto tiptoes and whispered something into Pat’s ear. Pat closed his eyes. He _sighed_ , and Briseis gently kissed him on the side of his mouth.

Achilles turned and left. He didn’t stop when Ant tried to catch his arm through the crowd, face full of surprise and delight, brushing him off before the “Hey Dude!” had left his lips. He pushed the doors open, storming out into the cool air of the night. The anger boiling up inside of him was beyond anything he had felt. His fists clenched and unclenched and his teeth ground as his feet carried him fast away from the school, away from _them_. He turned a corner, and suddenly wheeled around, raising his fist and smashing it into a fence with a roar. The fence creaked, the only noise to accompany his ragged breath and the sound of his heart that seemed to hammer against his chest like a drum. He stood for a moment, looking down at his bloody knuckles, red rivulets seeping down his fingers and drip, drip, dripping onto the pavement, and felt nothing. 

“Achilles!” The cry shook him out of his stupor. He turned to see a car pull up, and Deidameia’s head peering through the open window. She was dressed for prom, her long dark hair pulled into an elegant updo and a silky dress that matched the powder blue shade of her Fiat perfectly. She leant across the passenger seat and pushed the door open, a wide smile on her red painted lips.

“Achilles, get in.” She said. Her voice had a delicate lilt. It was confident, teasing, so unlike the other stammering girls who surrounded him at school. Almost like Patroclus’. Achilles stared at her, a frown still creasing his brow. He had a couple of choices now. He could storm back to the school hall, tear down the decorations, pull Pat out of Briseis’ arms and see the unbearable disappointment plain on his face. He could go home, let the tears stream from his eyes as he smashed up his room, and then again as he failed to explain at his father’s kind questions what on earth was going on. Or he could get in the car with Mia. Try to forget. 

He got in. Mia gave him a small wink as he clipped his seatbelt into place. “Come on,” She whispered, mischief in her bright eyes. “Let’s drive.”

  
  


Achilles dropped his skateboard on the pavement in front of him, breathing the early autumn air in deeply. The streetlights were still on despite the brightness of the morning, dew clinging to each surface and lending the world a muted shine. He tried to switch his brain off, not to think about Pat and Mia and the mess he had made, and instead began to propel himself forward on his board through the damp air. His hair had grown over the summer, golden strands almost at his shoulders now, and the wind whipped it behind him as he flew along the streets.

It wasn’t long before he found himself outside Patroclus’ house, looking up at Patroclus’ window. The lights were off. Of course they were, it was Saturday morning, but soon Pat would wake up. He would open his eyes on his birthday, and for the first time in six years Achilles wouldn’t be squashed up next to him in his bed. He was so close, the door in front of him, the doorbell. He had been planning what he would say for weeks now. And Pat was there, he was right there, just plaster and glass between them but he didn’t know how to get past it. How get to Pat. He tried to push down the panic even as it rose from the pit of his stomach up into his chest. He needed to open his mouth, to let it out. To scream and shout and roar but he couldn’t catch his breath to make a sound. He grasped at his sweat damp hair, pulling hard in an attempt to gain some kind of purchase over himself. He couldn’t breath. His heart was racing, too fast, too hard. This wasn’t right, why couldn’t he catch his breath?

_Patroclus_ , he thought, the only word he seemed able to conjure. _Patroclus, Patroclus, Patroclus._ Slowly his breathing began to settle, matching the syllables of his continued mantra. _Pa_ \- in - _tro_ \- hold - _clus_ \- out. 

_Fuck_. He thought. He actually couldn’t breathe without him. He _needed_ to see him, needed to make it up to him. Today. It might be his last chance.


End file.
